


the million dollar man

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blowjobs, M/M, hahaaaa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-01
Updated: 2015-02-01
Packaged: 2018-03-09 22:10:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3266153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not hard at all to love Dave Strider. He's weird, but he's brilliant, a genius even, smarter than people probably gave him credit for, looks like a million and one dollars in a suit, and can name every actor from the cast of the original Star Trek, and secretly likes tea over coffee, but he's got everyone wrapped around his pretty little fingers. Especially you. You really aren't surprised.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the million dollar man

**Author's Note:**

> this was also supposed to be a drabble  
> i dont do drabbles apparently  
> lord help me  
> another request filled from tumblr  
> million dollar man by lana del rey

The theatre hall reeks with both smell and sound. The incessant jingle of jewelry, a haze of perfume, the clicks and whirrs of cameras, the buzz of spotlights, the stench of pride. A moment of silence for suspense, an imaginary drumroll, a name called. A standing ovation. People around you stand in their seats, clapping for the success that everyone had already expected, so no one is really surprised as Dave Strider stands there with a grin that is too knowing for his own good on the platform, nodding his head in thanks. You don't stand until he looks at you, or at least in your general direction. Even then, you wait a moment as his gaze lingers, your arms folded carefully over your chest, just to be sure. But you stand, smoothen away any possibilities of wrinkles in your suit before you clap as well. Your ego swells when he seems to stand just a tad straighter before his gaze moves away once again. You allow yourself a smirk as the noise dies down and everyone takes their seats again. 

You knew how this worked. You've gone to the screenings, you've been to the theatres, you've seen the awards, even attended a few galas, and to put it simply, _been there, seen that._ But you weren't the one invited, you were just the plus one. You didn't mind, since being involved with his work life has left him as a concept you can barely grasp. If anything, you enjoy it. You watch silently as he shakes people's hands, nods his thanks, accepts congratulations, and perhaps might even flip off someone who was giving him a particularly dirty look in the presence of his splendour. Which you find hilarious. His ego goes up by a staggering 400% at _least_ , when he's out here, as if he needs any help with that. It never takes him long to get used to not being the one behind the camera. But you know better. You know _him_ better. 

You know him for what he is, and that is Dave Strider. Plain and simple. Perhaps not the best way to describe him in words, but the generalities stay the same. The world views him as something else. A God, ethereal, something to be worshipped. And he loves it, revels in it, when he's there. Behind closed doors, he lets it rest. He'll change into some pyjamas and eat Oreos from the box while watching Judge Judy. He's got the outside world wrapped around his finger, and yet they barely see half of him. You don't understand it, but you find it humorous at the same time. Sure, maybe his stage act isn't much of an act, since you know he loves the attention, he knows what he does and why he does it, he lives for putting on a show, and in the wise words of Lady Gaga, lives for the applause. But he likes yours in particular. 

He loves to dress up, and you'll be damned if anyone complains. He can pull just about anything off, which he loves to show off on a regular basis. Even when he's dressed down, he makes a point to look good doing it. Even if the nature of his work isn't the most serious, he takes it seriously. Everything is meticulous in it's planned stupidity, practically down to the letter, not that anyone is the wiser, but he'll take the credit where credit is due. 

He looks like a million dollar man, but you know the suit is half of his act. 

And you remind him of this on a regular basis. As much as he loves being worshipped, he gets off on having himself stripped down from that, taken off that pedestal and reminded that he's human, below you, not in charge this time, not calling the shots. Behind closed doors, that's your position. 

The ceremony ends, and once again people stand from their seats, ready to leave. Dave had slipped a key card into your pocket before the event had started, and your fingers curl around it as you move through the crowds of fame and fortune, and make your way into the car that had been waiting. You knew he would stay a short while longer, if only for show, before he would join you, but you don't feel like waiting. You're working at your cufflinks by the time you're walking through a grande lobby. 

It's forty seven minutes before you hear the beep of the door opening, and by now you've gotten rid of your shoes, jacket, and tie, your shades discarded on the nightstand as well, and standing from your place sitting on the bed to go and greet him. You catch him leaning down to get his shoes off, and you stop in front of him. He glances up for a moment with a grin before he gets back to work, and you carefully place one of your hands on the top of his head, brushing through his hair while you wait. 

You always started slowly. Maybe for peace of mind, maybe for the sake of savouring it, but you never wanted him to think you were disappointed. Or that you weren't proud of him. Because god were you ever, you were always proud of him and his work, but you enjoy this just as much as he does. 

He sets his shoes aside, and you take your chance to gently guide his head up. He still stands a few inches taller than you, but you're nineteen, you can't blame it on him just yet. He leans down without prompt to press his lips to yours, and your free hand goes to his shoulder, feel his hands trail up your sides, resting on either side of your ribcage. You stand there for another moment or two before you pull away, taking his shades away and tucking them carefully into his breast pocket, before you give another smirk as your fingers curl around the soft fabric of his tie and pull him down to your lips again. 

By this point you don't start slow. The pace you've set is already bordering on harsh, but he keeps up, his grip curling into the fabric of your dress shirt as he pulls you closer to be chest to chest. You can just barely feel his heartbeat through his jacket, picking up speed just as your lips do. 

Your fingers start to fiddle with his tie to actually get it off, or at least loosened enough at first so that you can get at those buttons. This time he is the first to pull away, and you make a small noise in distaste as his hands leave you. But they quickly go to the buttons of his jacket, and you help push it off of his shoulders, and Dave hardly has a moment to toss it aside before you're pushing him back against the door, head tilting to get closer. He makes a surprised noise at the small thump when his back hits the wood, but doesn't hesitate to reciprocate when your lips find his, arms now coming around your waist. 

You feel more than you hear his chuckle when you take initiative to roll your hips insistently into his, and you don't think that's something he should be finding funny right now, so you bite down on his lip to shut him up. Well, maybe the groan he lets out is just better noise than his stupid laughing. You suppose you'll settle. Your hands trail up over his chest again, one takes hold of his chin, and you pull away from his lips again, and he's looking at you with half-lidded eyes before you tilt his head back, and move your attention down to his neck. You nip just underneath his jaw, moving down the side of his throat with kisses, and continue to work at his tie until you can slowly slip it from around his collar, and that too joins his jacket on the floor. Buttons now at easier access, you undo them one at a time, slowly working your way down, your lips trailing along his collar bones as you feel his breath quickening under your ministrations. 

By the time you've gotten as many buttons as you can before the rest of his shirt is tucked into his pants, he's reaching for your wrists and asks if you can go to the bedroom. You give a low hum, your fingers trailing over his hips until they curl into his belt loops, and nod. You bring him along with you, and he follows easily, and you let go once you're in the door. You set to work on your own shirt, working a little faster at the buttons as you tell him to close the door. He looks at you funny for a moment, but you only need to raise an eyebrow before he turns to do as you asked. That's the fun part. You drape your shirt somewhat carelessly over the back of a rather plush chair in the corner of the room, and by now Dave is standing by the door, waiting what would look as though he were patient, but with the way his eyes roam over your torso, you're quite certain of the contrary. Good. 

You shift the chair a little to be in a better position, before you take a seat, giving a hum as you move to get comfortable, taking your sweet ass time, and casually cross one leg over the other. You regard him for another moment, before you beckon him over silently. He obeys, stepping forward until he's right in front of you, and you look up at him with a saccharine smile. You tell him to strip. 

You see the way the corners of his lips twitch upwards, and with the way his fingers slowly trail over his own hips towards his belt buckle, you know you're in for a show. Not that you would expect anything less. Dave was always an entertainer. The leather is slipped out of the loops and dropped to the floor with a metallic clatter, but you don't care about it, not with the way he pushes his hips towards you just a little as he pops the button and slowly drags the zipper down, making you want to just reach out for him and bring him into your lap and do it for him, but you resist. His pants drop to his knees and he tries to be careful kicking them the rest of the way off, generally succeeding as he stands there in his briefs, and you're pleased with how you can see the outline of his dick through the fabric, and can't help but lick you lips when you see the dot of pre already darkening them near the waistband. One of his hands drifts slowly over his navel while the other fiddles with the elastic, and he continues to tease until you shift in your seat fingers itching to give yourself some relief with the way he's moving. You let out a small groan, and he seems pleased with that and finally moves to push them down, bending to get them off all the way. When he stands, your eyes are instantly on the prize, drinking in the way his cock bobs, pre still dotting the head.

You finally uncross your legs, one hand shamelessly going to palm at the front of your pants, your own erection starting to feel a little troublesome beneath the fabric. You tell him to get on his knees and come undress you as well. He bites at his lip and nods, doing as you said and shuffling closer to you, and you move your hand away to let him complete his task. He doesn't take as long with you as he had for himself, your button and fly taken care of easily, and you think for a moment that he's not even going to wait to get you out of your own underwear before going for your cock, but he wouldn't be doing exactly as you'd asked then, and so he continues to work your pants off. You lift your hips to help him, and as compensation he doesn't take the liberty of going one layer at a time, your pants and briefs going in one movement. 

You can already feel his quiet panting breaths on your dick, and he's looking between your eyes and your crotch, waiting, but eager for your next command. You know what he wants, but you decide to keep him waiting for a little longer, and you tell him to kiss you instead. His whine is nearly imperceptible, but he stands again, leaning over to kiss you, his lips moving against yours fervently. One of his hands holds your shoulder, the other resting on your thigh, but carefully inching closer to your dick, and it doesn't take long for you to be convinced that there's been enough waiting, and you blindly reach for his hand, guiding it to your cock, where he eagerly wraps his fingers around it. You give a moan in relief against his lips, finally having him touch you, your hand still placed over his as he starts to jack you off. 

He whines into your kiss, his grip on your shoulder tightening, his breath almost trembling against your lips whenever you part for air. But you ignore this, pushing your hips up into his hand with low moans, bringing your free hand to his shoulder. It doesn't take long until he tries to lower his hips enough to grind against your thigh, and only then do you stop ignoring it. With a hint of reluctance, you stop the movements of his hand on your dick, and press against his shoulder to break your kiss and guide him back to his knees in front of you. You look down on him with heavily lidded eyes, and you tell him to suck. 

The look he gives you looks like he's trying to decide if he's going to plead with you or please you, and you guess he goes for both. His eyes don't leave yours as he brings the head of your cock to his lips, but doesn't move at all from there as he returns to jerking you off. You keen, and your hand leaves it's place over his, bringing it to thread your fingers through his hair instead, giving a short but insistent nudge to take more of you. His lips part, but he still doesn't move much further, teasing you with the warmth just out of your reach. But his tongue sweeps over the tip, teasing your slit, and it takes a lot to not just buck upwards into it, but resist to avoid coming into contact with his teeth. 

Your panting has turned somewhat harsh by this point, and your eyes flutter shut for a moment before you give a low groan of his name, and only then does he wrap his lips around you, carefully covering his teeth, and moves his head down just past the head of your cock, and stays once again, but finally puts his tongue to work on you, and your head falls back with another moan. Suddenly, he gives a harsh suck, making your back arch and your jaw fall slack for a moment, voice pitching almost hilariously if it didn't feel so good as you call his name, but as soon as it had been there, it's gone, and he pulls off your dick. You try to catch your breath, looking back down at him, and he's just grinning, letting his warm breath continue to tease you. You think for a moment that he's having a little too much slack down there, and you're shameless as you spread your legs just a little farther, and bring one leg up to hook your knee over his shoulder, your grip now ensuring that he wouldn't have as much leeway. Your heel pushes down at the base of his shoulder blade, effectively bringing him closer to your crotch. You tell him again to suck, another insistent push, and now he brings his hand away from your dick to hold your thigh on his shoulder, the other moving to rest on your hip. He wastes no more time before going back down on you, and you moan appreciatively. 

He goes further now, his movements quicker, eagerly licking and sucking at your cock, his head bobbing along your length. He leaves you breathless and groaning in your seat, one hand still in his hair, your grip there continuing to guide him, while you bring your other hand to your mouth, opting to put two fingers in your mouth to preoccupy it, idly sucking in contrast to his hurried motions. When he looks up at your muffled moans, it only proves to darken the look in his eyes more, leaving you with a shudder as he works even more enthusiastically at your dick. His hand on your hip keeps you from moving too much and upsetting his rhythm, and you're pretty sure there's going to be bruises where his fingers dig into your thigh, and with the way his movements are turning a little sloppier, a little quicker, you'd say he's just about ready to start humping the floor for friction on his own dick. It only takes the thought of his cock, throbbing and dripping pre onto the carpet to get you to pull him off your cock, both of you gasping for breath at this point. He looks fucking wrecked, his eyes dark and half lidded, no doubt matching your own, saliva on his lips and chin, which you slowly bring your fingers to, swiping through it to clean him up and pushing your fingers into his mouth. He obediently sucks, slower now, but his breaths are tinged with whines. You don't have much patience left either. 

You bring your fingers out of his mouth now, wiping the remaining spit carelessly onto the armrest of the chair, and bring your leg down from his shoulder and tell him to get on the bed. He stands, somewhat shakily you note with a hint of success, and makes his way to the bed, and you stand to follow. He climbs on to sit in the middle, and you know he's dying to touch himself, but you haven't said anything so he refrains. You make a quick stop to where your bags have been waiting beside the nightstand, rifling through quickly for some lube and a condom, and climb onto the sheets as well. You set the lube and condom aside for a second to place a hand on his chest, pushing him to lay flat on his back, head against the laughable amount of pillows on the bed, and throw one of your legs over his waist, settling yourself down just above his crotch. When you grind your hips forward to rub your cock against his abdomen, you feel his dick against your ass as you grind backwards, and his hands move to your hips, urging you to do it again, so you relent. You both groan as you rock your hips slowly on top of him, your dick drooling pre onto his stomach as you rock forwards, just as his does against your ass. 

But again you stop after a while, and his head leans back against the pillows with a desperate whine, and you enjoy the way the flush on his face has made its way down over his chest by this point as well, reaching over to pick up the bottle of lube again. With slightly shaky fingers you get the cap open, and if the way Dave continues to arch his hips to prod at your backside is anything to go by, you should at least try to pick up the pace. You squeeze some of the liquid onto your fingers, rubbing them together a little before you reach around behind yourself, lifting your hips away from his reach, to which he outright whines, and you use your free hand to press a finger to his lips, shushing him quietly, though your breath hitches about halfway through as you tease at your own entrance, taking away from the effect a little. But he quiets down, and you go about prepping yourself, making him wait as you lean your forehead against his shoulder, feeling his heartbeat against your own where your chests meet, your hips rolling into your own thrusts. You work yourself open, two fingers shifting to three, and Dave goes about touching you in your distraction. If he's not allowed to touch himself, then he may as well, you guess. His fingers dance around your hips, over the muscles that clench and relax repeatedly in your abdomen, and starts to press kisses at your temple, on the shell of your ear, all of it adding to the pleasure you feel as you finger yourself over top of him. 

You deem yourself ready soon enough, and you can practically taste his relief as you remove your fingers and shift back a little on top of him to straddle his thighs instead, reaching for the condom, carefully tearing the little packet open to roll it over his cock. The cry he lets out at the initial shock of your touch is exquisite, his eyes squeezing shut at the first stimulation he gets on his dick in what probably feels like way too fucking long, but you follow up with lube in your hand soon after and his hips arch almost immediately into it as you spread the fluid over his heated skin. Your name is flowing from his lips, and by now he's _begging_ for you, begging for you to move, to do something, anything, touch him, more, _please_ , and you do. You shift up, one hand holding his cock loosely as you guide it towards your ass, and after a moment he helps you out, a hand on your hip guiding you downwards. You shift a little more, rubbing the head of his dick against your ass for a moment with quick moans on your lips, and he lets out something akin to a sob before you finally start to ease him into yourself. 

His moans are coming as fast as he can take air to make them, and you're just drinking it in, trying your hardest to keep your breathing calm and not go too fast as you shift your hips down a little more. You pause, and he's got both hands on your hips now, and then you give a small roll of your hips and _yes._ You grind down on him again, taking more of him each time, again and again, and it feels fucking amazing. You glance down at him as you continue to bounce on his cock, watching the way his expression strains, the way his neck arches back, the way his jaw falls slack as you continue to move, the way he's _trying_ to keep looking at you, but is ultimately failing with how much his eyes flutter shut. 

You ask him, voice heavy with pleasure, if it feels good. He mutters 'yes' over and over, each time your hips come down to meet his, and you wish you had the heart to keep him quiet like you'd intended, but it was just too good. You praise him, tell him he feels good too, he's doing so well, and you can _feel_ the shudder that runs through his body. You tilt your head back, gasping for breath as you ride him, pleasure swelling and heating your skin, your bangs starting to stick to your damp forehead, and you shiver as you feel a few drops trail down the back of your neck. You barely register when one of his hands leaves your hip to move to your shoulder, and before you know it he's pulling you down to kiss you, his lips moving fervently against yours, his tongue is in your mouth and you retaliate by gently sucking, and he groans against you, thrusting his hips up into you. Your breath catches in your throat, and this really isn't going quite as planned, so you bring your hands up to thread into his hair, giving insistent tugs to encourage him as you grind down onto him. 

It's not much longer before you're barely even kissing, just your mouths sloppily pressed together as you trade breaths, having too much and not enough at the same time. You lean back up, hands resting firmly on his chest to keep him from following, and with your hips picking up speed as best you can, you tell him to jerk you off. He doesn't hesitate to wrap his hand around your cock again, his movements quick, gripping at you like he can't get enough, and your hips stutter, trying to thrust into his hand and back onto his dick in time, but he's going faster than you and you can't keep up. You moan loud as he squeezes you, his wrist twisting as he goes, and you just tell him breathlessly to keep going, keep going, and he does, and he gets the guts to tell you to just let go, and with his voice as low and gruff as it is you really can't find it within yourself to deny him so you do, you groan as you let go, muscles tightening in your release, cum spurting onto his stomach. He continues to stroke you through it, your hips twitching into his grip, the last of your orgasm dribbling out over his fingers as you moan, and you can feel him pulse and twitch inside you, the muscles in his thighs under your hips and his abdomen under your hands clenching, and he's pushed over the edge as you continue to idly rock your hips, drawing out the ebbing pleasure. 

You lean back down, your lips trailing over his chest, up along his neck, along his jaw, and finally to his lips, soft, repeated pecks, even as you both try to catch your breath, bodies still thrumming with the afterglow. His hands rub at your hips slowly, and after a few moments of just kissing him you gather the energy to lift yourself off of him, a small whine the only complaint you get, and flop down onto the covers beside him. You settle on your side, reaching over to run your fingers through his slightly damp hair, brushing it away from his forehead. His eyelids flutter at your touch, and he peeks an eye open to look at you for a moment, a dopey grin on his face. You just snort tiredly at him, and swat at his shoulder and tell him to get a cloth to clean up so you can get down to all this post-sex snuggle business. He groans at the prospect of moving, but gets up anyways, and you snicker as you watch him walk away funny to avoid upsetting your mess on his stomach. You stretch out a little, hoping to urge your muscles to relax a bit, tossing the bottle of lube back in the general direction of your bags, and curling up the ripped up packet into a ball to try and aim it into the waste basket across the room. You get it within 30 centimetres of it and deem that to be good enough. You're just settling back into the sheets when Dave comes back from the bathroom, tossing a cloth at you and you gently clean yourself up as much as you can without showering, which you'll probably get to tomorrow at best. The cloth makes it to the nightstand as Dave joins you on the bed again, shuffling closer as he brings his arms around your torso, just as yours drape over his waist. He's had a long day, and you can't say you blame him for being tired now, especially after some pretty great sex, so you leave him alone. 

You're pretty sure he's asleep within the next ten minutes. 

And as you gaze at him, half asleep yourself, you guess it's not so surprising that he has everyone around his finger. It's not hard to love Dave Strider, after all. He's weird, but he's brilliant, a genius even, smarter than people probably gave him credit for, looks like a million and one dollars in a suit, and can name every actor from the cast of the original Star Trek, and secretly likes tea over coffee, but he's got everyone wrapped around his pretty little fingers. Especially you. You really aren't surprised.

**Author's Note:**

> something not johndave  
> wow  
> 


End file.
